The Past That Hunts Us All
by Imymadderthanyyou1996
Summary: Bella was attacked when she was 13 and helped by a strange boy of the same age. As Bella ages so does the boy, but will they meet or will the past continue to haunt them both? AH no smut perverts and a love that binds.


**The Past That Haunts Us All**

**Full Summary**

**When Bella was 13 she was mugged on the streets of Seattle. A stranger saved her life. Bella, now 23 remembers that night very clearly, her life changed that night. Can total strangers affect each other irreversibly? Can damaged love?**

**Chapter 1 – Recollections **

**Bella POV, 13 btw, shop=store. I'm English, I use English. **

_I'm tired. My feet hurt. Why did Renée need milk? Oh yeah, she wanted cornflakes. At two in the morning. While she was drunk. God, the things I do for my mother! O.K. I have a weird random watching me. Right Bella, remember your training. Stop, Drop and Roll. And run into the nearest shop to get away from him. No, it's alright I'm almost there. I stepped into the corner shop and picked the milk. Semi-Skimmed, at least three days left and local. I found a carton that fitted all these specifications. I paid for it and walked swiftly out of the shop. Will Renée even be up when I get in? I doubt it, she was a terrible drunk, passed out after about three hours. I checked my watch, ten minutes to go. I thought wryly. _

_Eek! I felt two large hands encircle my waist and my breathing picked up, adrenaline hitting my system. Bringing me courage where none existed. Bringing me the strength to fight. I swallowed hard and turned to face the man behind me. He was in his late 20s, obviously drunk and missing a few teeth. He grinned and I stepped away from his hands, only to meet two others. There were two of them. The second one was apparently more talkative. _

"_Hey sugar. Ain't it past your bedtime?" He asked, his breath humid on my ear. I detested it, it repelled me. I nodded meekly and he smiled. I counted to three. One… Two… Three. And with that I bolted, desperate to escape. They however were faster and I was trapped between two bodies, powerless, defenceless, done for. I closed my eyes, not knowing what to expect. I thought of other things, nice things. Sunset beaches. PUNCH. Palm trees. KICK. Renée's hugs and kisses. KISS. Being loved. TRAVELLING HAND. Christmas. BUTT GRASPED. Fresh, hot tears travelled down my cheeks and I could feel it coming, taste it on my tongue. Ever since I was young, I had been to known to crumble under intense situations. I was scared. So scared, that I fought to stay awake. I tried to force more adrenaline in my system. I pinched my arms. I kicked man 1 in the gut. He screamed and crumpled to the ground and I was left with man 2. He laughed in my face when he dodged a punch. He grinned when I tried to kick him. He cried when I kicked him in the groin. Howling with pain, he lunged at me and I closed my eyes, anticipating the blow. It never came. I opened to see a flash of bronze, lunging at _him_ and winning. He was sitting on his chest hurling abuse at him. _

"_Pick on someone your own size." He bellowed and I cowered. The boy turned. That's what he was. A boy, with flushed skin and bright green eyes. He walked cautiously towards me and my eyebrows furrowed. Who was he? _

"_Miss? Miss, are you alright?" He asked me and I nodded. He smiled at me, then turned. I saw his body retreating into the distance and my conscious fading. My head hit the ground and the last thing I remembered was Man 1's breath on my thighs. _

BEEP! Beep! Beep! My alarm woke me from my stupor. From my memory. I remember waking up in the hospital. I remember the damage. One broken rib. One broken arm. A fractured wrist. A concussion. Torn ligaments from trying to fight, to preserve my dignity. I do not remember, however, how I woke just outside the hospital with a note strapped to my chest addressing their best surgeon and a mysterious donation to the children's ward three days later. When I asked of the boy, the staff shook their heads. Their was no boy. I must have dreamt him. But I had proof, he had placed a note expertly in my jacket so only I could find it, in the rip of the lining lay a note, addressed to me.

_Girl, I am sorry I couldn't stop him, sorry I didn't knock him out properly. I will live with that regret forever, I apologise. I will never drink milk again without remembering you, I hope you live a long and happy life. I pray me meet again. –E._

I never told anyone of that note, not even Renée. E was mine and I'd be damned if I had to share him, he was my miracle. I would have died without his help. That I was sure of. But he helped me find my calling, helping others in similar situations. I had been told by a mental specialist that if I didn't 'think happy thoughts' I would have gone mad over the strain of being abused. I wasn't raped, just, touched. Because of Man 1 Jeffery Parker I had never been able to go out late or go down dark alleys or drink milk. The worse thing though was I began to resent Renée, I haven't spoken to my mother in five years and I was happy about that. I didn't need her, I'd proved that. But there is still one thing that haunts me, who was the boy with the bronze hair? Who was my saviour?


End file.
